


Robin's Birthday Surprise

by Jonibluestrellacott



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonibluestrellacott/pseuds/Jonibluestrellacott
Summary: It's Robin's 32nd birthday on 9th October 2016 and everyone is invited...
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 25
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This came to mind after reading @meansovermotive’s Striketober fiction, which I love (thanks for the muse). Hope its not too fluffy, and everyone suddenly seems to have an opinion on how this will go down, so not sure it will be to all of your liking… but here goes! My first ever piece of fanfic so please be gentle with me, hopefully practice will result in less fluff and more edge and humour, and possibly smut..! And if anyone has any tips about the process of beta reading and posting, they’d be much appreciated please 😊

Everything was prepared, and they were sharing a few moments together in a side room off reception in the Hotel Tresanton, an exquisite setting along the Cornish seaside overlooking St Mawes. They would be notified when the last guests had arrived: the Polworths were running slightly later than planned, which made Cormoran fidget for one more cigarette whilst Robin waited patiently, making last minute yet unnecessary tweaks to her appearance with a nervous energy. The early autumn’s afternoon sunshine was illuminating the lightly clouded sky and the temperature was still quite warm, on this beautiful day in Strike’s hometown. 

She was dressed in an elegant evening gown: not the green Cavalli dress that Strike had bought her several years before, but a very similar cut and fit, accentuating both her slim but curvaceous figure and her height, accompanied with heels and a sophisticated upsweep of her hair, soft curls falling onto her shoulders and partially covering the stole that complimented the dress perfectly. Strike was looking sharp in a well-cut dinner jacket with an open collar, having lost a little weight and looking broad and toned, his jawline freshly shaven and his hair recently cut, but still springing into its usual and uncompromising riot of curls. The mingled scents of Narciso and Pour un Homme hung in the air between them, mixed with lingering tobacco from Strike’s last cigarette.

It was the 32nd anniversary of Robin’s birth and, whilst not exactly a milestone event, happened to be one for which they had invited family and friends down to Cornwall to help celebrate with her, as she hadn’t been home to Masham on her birthday for several years due to the busy-ness of the agency and the undercurrents created by the prolonged village gossip relating to Matthew, his new life with Sarah and their sons, the subsequent affairs and impending, and likely more costly, second divorce; from which Robin’s name never seemed to be entirely disentangled…. 

Or so the cover story went…

In reality, Strike and Robin had hired the hotel’s terraces for their wedding ceremony, a fact which they had, as far as they were aware, managed to keep a secret from everyone invited to the event, including Ilsa and Lucy, who were known for their ability to sniff out any monkey business like a pair of terriers after a fresh bone. The hotel’s management had been sworn to strict confidentiality surrounding the event, given the local interest in their home-grown and now famous detective and his partner, as well as the potential for national press attention. A special license had been arranged by the registrar to avert notifications of marriage banns several weeks beforehand in the local church. Invites had remained an informal affair, mostly by word of mouth and texts, outlining a late afternoon Sunday meal progressing into the evening to celebrate the occasion. Luckily most of the guests had accepted, including Linda, Michael, Jonathan and Martin Ellacott, who had embraced the offer by adding a few days’ vacation to the event, having never been to Cornwall previously and appreciating the rare opportunity to gather together as a family. Pat and the subcontractors at the detective agency had been offered a long weekend off in order to be able to attend if they wished, although Hutchins and Greenstreet had kindly offered to stay behind to cover the work rota, it being too far for Andy to travel comfortably for a weekend anyway. In fact almost everyone should have been waiting for them: only Shanker, whom Strike had dubiously invited, not wanting to have to worry whether silverware and wallets would still be aligned with their rightful owners by the end of the evening, had declined to come along (“A five hour drive to the middle of bloody nowhere for a birthday dinner? No freakin’ chance, Bunsen, but say happy birthday to Robin from Alyssa”). 

The exception to the wedding communication moratorium was, surprisingly, Cormoran’s half-brother Al. The hotel, used to sourcing and providing a range of entertainment from fireworks to mobile casinos, the usual discos and occasional Ceilidhs, had struggled somewhat to find a suitable blues/ soul band, which Robin and Strike had specifically requested. Sensing some trepidation from the slightly star struck manager, and probably not wishing for their entertainment to seem less than sensational on the off-chance that celebrities could potentially be attending, a slightly awkward conversation had ensued between the couple and the hoteliers, the implication of which was that perhaps Strike - with his familial connections to the music industry - may be better placed to find suitable entertainers, especially given that some quite specific requests had already been made for the playlist. Luckily, Robin and Strike had already approached Al to ask whether he might be able to find time in his busy, international schedule, to attend a relatively insignificant birthday party in Cornwall, and again, quite surprisingly, Al had appeared to be so touched by the unusual and unexpected invite that he’d instructed whoever was in charge of his diary to clear sufficient time for him to attend. When Strike then approached Al, grudgingly (not due to Al’s behaviour, but due to the assumptions made by the hoteliers), to ask whether he might be able to do him the favour of finding a suitable but small band, and possibly a session singer or two, Al’s interest in the ‘low-key, low-importance birthday party’ was piqued. Sensing that there was more to this invite and the casual request than what could be gauged at face value, Al had generously pulled some strings with a record label, hired said musicians, promising he wouldn’t let either of the couple down for Robin’s ‘birthday’, and had then declined any payment for the entertainment, declaring it a gift… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was approaching three o’clock in the afternoon and they were running twenty minutes behind schedule, having planned for it to start just as the Sunday lunches concluded in the restaurant, and before the sun began its descent in the skies over St Mawes bay, where it nestled in the estuary of the Percuil river. Strike, whose own track record for timeliness to non-professional events was known to be rather lacking, was still wishing he could smoke and was becoming more restless by the moment, starting to emit expletive-smattered complaints about how his oldest friend was the one living closest to the venue and yet still seemed incapable of managing the journey within the expected attendance window, when the manager approached, confirming that all guests had now arrived and were being received with welcome drinks on the Beach Club’s tiered terraces overlooking the coast. 

Robin and Cormoran agreed to follow the manager out presently, hanging back slightly to capture a final moment before their surprise occasion was exposed and the ceremony began. 

“You look absolutely stunning” Cormoran whispered to Robin, nose to nose with her, in each other’s arms. “Today, I am undoubtedly the luckiest man alive. Thank you for agreeing to become my wife”.

“The luck is all mine, being with you” Robin replied, “I can’t believe how far we’ve come. I would never have become the person I am today if it wasn’t for you, Cormoran”.

They shared a gentle but soulful kiss before Robin said, “Shall we make those calls, then?” and they both reached for their mobiles, dialling familiar numbers. Robin rang her father first, then Strike contacted Lucy, Nick and the tardy Dave Polworth. He then sent a message to his brother Al. Hoping that their respective calls would summon their informal wedding party, they headed out of the suite and towards their designated places for the service to begin. 

As they walked from the reception area of the hotel, one final embrace and a kiss was shared before Strike went ahead to meet his unknowing usher and best men.


	2. Chapter 2

Strike walked through the reception area to where Ted, Nick and Dave were all waiting.  
“All right Oggy”  
“Alrigh’, Did-“  
Both Dave and Nick spoke simultaneously, Polworth turning around to greet Strike just ahead of Ted and Nick, pulling up short as they all caught sight of his appearance.

“Alright” said Strike into the brief silence, suddenly nervous, from both being under their scrutiny and the need to come clean.

“Woohoo! You scrub up well, Diddy” said Polworth, seeming to rediscover his tongue and running his hands down his sides whilst gyrating his hips. “Bit fancy for a birthday bash, innit?”

… A brief glance at Ted and Nick showed that they had already started to realise there was more to this occasion than they had been led to believe…. Strike said shakily, 

“It’s great that you’ve joined us for this afternoon, we wouldn’t want to be here without you today. I wondered if I might ask you to walk with me, out onto the terrace?”. He rubbed his hand across his jawline in nervousness and anticipation. 

Ted, whom Lucy had instructed to the meeting place following Strike’s call, finally greeted Cormoran with a smile and a hug, whispering as he lent into his adopted son, 

“Is this heading where I think it is, boy?”

Strike looked back into the eyes of his uncle and made the slightest of acknowledgements, stymied by his nervousness and sudden self-consciousness. Ted said nothing more, but the watery glint in his eyes said it all for him, an expression of pride and joy which was accompanied by an approving, hugging hand around the side of Strike’s head before he moved away. 

Nick stepped forwards with comprehension in his eyes and a wide smile on his face, and offered his hand for Strike to shake, slapping him on the shoulder at the same time.   
“At last” he said, nodding his own approval. “Ilsa’s going to kill you for pulling this one off”. Strike gave a snort and grinned and nodded ruefully, still unable to find further words.

“Back out onto the terrace? Where we’ve just come from you mean? I left half a bloody pint out there when you rang. Why do you want us to walk you anyway, is your falsie about to fall off or something? What’s everyone smirking at?” Dave added as he looked around at the three men.

“Its Tolstoy time, Chum” Strike said, patting Dave on the shoulder and pulling two velvet boxes out of his jacket pocket, handing one each to Dave and Nick, “Could you hang onto these for me for a few minutes?”

“Tol-“ Dave started, as he looked down at the ring box whilst the penny finally dropped. “You’re not…!? To Robin? Now?!” he exclaimed in surprise, and followed the three of them as they moved back out towards the bottom terrace, where the registrar could be found waiting to greet them, as well as Al, who had made his way there upon Cormoran’s texted request. 

“Thanks for joining us Al, and for the gift”, Cormoran said, shaking hands and half-hugging his brother whilst nodding to the musicians who had just gathered themselves, all set to start playing once Robin was ready to appear. 

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else today, bro. Honoured you’ve invited me” replied Al, as emotional as the four men whom had joined him.

***

Robin waited in reception, but out of the line of sight of anyone who may approach from the outside areas, and apart from Strike. As she had intended, her first call to her father had summoned him slightly ahead of the two women, whose presence had then been initiated by Strike’s calls. Seeing a look of anxiety and concern on his face, she stepped towards him, smiling reassuringly as she came into his view. She saw him register her appearance, which caused a hitch to his forward progress along the corridor.

“Hi Dad,”

“Robin, you look beautiful……” he stepped forwards to kiss her on the cheek. “What’s happening? Is everything alright? Your mum’s worrying, asking why you’ve called for me….?” Though Robin sensed that he had already guessed, his look was searching, processing the scene, seeking confirmation. 

Not knowing herself how to articulate what she was about to do, she too simply said,  
“Everything’s fine Dad, just perfect in fact. No need to worry. I just wondered if you would walk with me, out onto the terrace…..?”

Her Dad went still, digesting the situation. After a few seconds, he stepped towards her and pulled Robin into a loving embrace, tears welling up in both their eyes, and as he pulled back, he said with a husky, emotionally laden voice, “Of course I will, my wonderful daughter. It would be my honour”.

As she pulled away from her father’s embrace, relieved at his acceptance of the circumstances and feeling the warmth of paternal love and pride, she saw Ilsa and Lucy advancing. Upon seeing Robin with her father, Ilsa’s approach stopped, mouth agape in surprise, then formed a broad and sincere smile as she screamed “Oh my God!!! I can’t believe it! I knew this wasn’t just about your birthday…!” and she rushed forwards with open arms, swallowing Robin into a hug, hopping from foot to foot with delight, mussing up Robin’s couture in the process.

Lucy, who was slightly more distracted by her mobile phone which seemingly was repeatedly going off (Greg wondering from afar why both Ted and Lucy had been asked to go back inside) was not quite as attuned to the situation, but couldn’t fail to understand when she absorbed Robin in her white attire, her father standing proudly beside her, full of emotion, and Ilsa virtually pogo-sticking with glee.

“You and Stick? You’re getting married?! Where is he…?” Lucy started turning around in reception, eyes searching for brother, wanting to share in this pivotal moment with him. 

Understanding that, regardless of whatever sibling bickering prevailed between them, Lucy was still very close to and fond of her brother, especially since Joan’s passing, and would want to cherish this moment with her brother, Robin said, “He’s waiting outside with Ted, until we join them, we’ll be there soon” , nodding reassuringly. Reaching for Ilsa and Lucy’s hands, and after another deep breath which Robin exhaled nervously and shakily, she said to the two women, her eyes sincere and beseeching, “Ilsa, you are such a good friend to me and Cormoran; and Lucy, you are already like a sister to me… I wondered if you would both do me the honour of walking with me please, and witnessing our declaration and commitment to each other?”. She turned around and reached behind a small table where she had been concealing two small posies of white roses and a larger, more ornate affair, elongated and conical, almost wand-like in shape, also holding Yorkshire roses but including gypsophila and eucalyptus. 

As she turned back towards her dear companions, holding out their flowers for them to accept, it was clear that the request and the mention of her declaration of love for Cormoran had set tears in all three women’s eyes, and Michael Ellacott was also moved. Losing her self-composure following the recognition of their longstanding and deep rooted friendship, Ilsa’s tears could already be seen rolling down her cheeks.   
“Oh my God, we haven’t even started and I’m already balling!”. Wafting a hand at her tears, she laughed and gave Robin another big hug, careful this time not to spoil hers or Robin’s makeup more than was being done so already. 

Lucy, who was also welling up with emotion and seemed a little thrown and lost for words at the turn of the unexpected events, leaned forwards to accept the posy offered, and with a smile of acceptance and warmth, stepped in to give Robin and hug and a kiss  
“Of course I will Robin, of course”.

From a discreet distance away, the hotel manager politely brought their attention to the formalities about to begin. “Miss Ellacott, if your party is now prepared, the musicians and the groom’s party are both in place; we can start when you are ready.” They smiled and held a welcoming arm out in the direction of the terrace, suggesting they were able to proceed.

With a deep breath, and buoyed with the love and support emanating from friends and family around her, Robin turned and smiled, saying “Thank you” and, taking her father’s proffered elbow at the doorway to her self-styled aisle, prepared to walk forwards towards her best friend and her soulmate, Lucy and Ilsa in tow; Ilsa openly crying with tears of joy that no amount of fanning was able to stem. 

As she crossed the threshold of the hotel, out into the mid-afternoon sun on the terrace, the entertainment started to play a song that both she and Cormoran had requested for this very moment: the mandolin plucked out the opening chords of ‘Case of You’ by Joni Mitchell. As the music permeated the atmosphere on the three terraces below, the guests slowly turned towards the sound, and Robin and her ensemble, who were met with gasps of surprise and comprehension; emanating joy as they approached. Robin, faced with a sea of her own friends and family, only had eyes for one person: he was waiting, proud and upstanding, on the bottom terrace, for his bride to approach and commit the rest of her time and love to him, as he was to her.


	3. Chapter 3

Although the wedding party was a relatively small congregation of around thirty guests, It took quite some for Robin, Michael, Ilsa and Lucy to traverse the short distance to the lower tier of the terrace, where the groom’s party were patiently waiting. Both Robin and Cormoran were approached by friends and family, taken by surprise at the unexpected turn of events and wishing to express their happiness for the couple. This did tend to encroach on the forward progress of the bridal party somewhat, as Robin was repeatedly embraced, kissed, and subjected to shrieks of consternation and joy as she walked alongside her proud and protective father. As she finally made her way to the lower terrace, she found the groom’s ensemble also surrounded by guests. 

As the last verse of the song came to an end, ‘Oh, but you are in my blood, you’re my holy wine, you’re so bitter, bitter and so sweet, I could drink a case of you my darling, Still I’d be on my feet, I would still be on my feet’, Robin finally stepped alongside Cormoran, who, breaking all tradition, took her into his arms and kissed her, full of emotion and love from the response of the surprised guests. 

The registrar stood in front of Robin and Strike, with the backdrop of the bay behind, the sun slowly descending in the sky, the sea shimmering with its reflection, a mix of ozone and salty water combining with the scent of Narciso, lavender and white roses. Having been given explicit instructions to make the ceremony as informal and concise as possible, the registrar wasted no time before making introductions. “Welcome everyone and you may have realised, we are here today to celebrate not just a birthday, but also the marriage of Cormoran and Robin...” 

The formalities passed by quickly and it wasn’t long before it was time for the vows; the wedding bands were retrieved from Nick and Dave; and then finally the registrar pronounced them Mr and Mrs Strike. Cormoran and Robin shared another kiss, to the cheers and delight of their gatherers. Whilst they went to sign the register, Al mustered the musicians once more and the waiting guests were entertained with ‘Blue’ by Joni Mitchell and ‘I hope that I don’t fall in love with you’ by Tom Waits. 

***

As the guests took the opportunity to congratulate the happy couple, the hotel served another round of champagne, and room was made on the top terrace beneath the marquee for the food to be laid out. A hot finger buffet of Cornish pasties, posh chips and side orders (including, much to Strike’s dismay, a northern option of mushy peas) was made available to the guests. A cake also appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and the bride and groom cut into it unceremoniously, Strike commenting that “it wouldn’t be a wedding without a good cake – wow, that’s good!”.

Cormoran breathed a sigh of relief as he inhaled on his now-permitted cigarette, and turned to Al. “Thanks again for arranging the music Al, they really are great”

“No problem bro, I’m glad I did get some really great players now the mystery around the ‘birthday meal’ is disclosed”, Al said, smiling and looking quite relieved that he hadn’t inadvertently spoilt the surprise wedding. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like them to be honest, they tend to be more bluegrass than I figured you were after, but they’re good with the song list you gave me. I’ll introduce you when they have a break, the female singer is Aoife O’Donovan, the mandolin player is Chris Thile and the guitar player is Gregory Alan Isakov. Luckily, they’ve all been over here in various locations and were available when I asked around, I’m doing them a favour too as they’ve been trying to get together for a while. They’re really up and coming, if I owe them one for this it won’t be a burden to repay… might have to capture a few promo shots though…”. 

And so the music continued, with renditions of Fish & Bird, All Shades of Blue, If I Go I’m Going, She Always Takes It Black, The Trapeze Swinger, Your Rocky Spine; further renditions of music from Mitchell and Waits; and cover versions of more mainstream songs mixed between, all delivered in mellow vibes, from Ruston Kelly. Cody Johnson, George Strait, 10cc, Fleetwood Mac, Eric Clapton, Passenger, George Ezra, Elbow, Biffy Clyro and Lady Antebellum. 

Linda and Michael Ellacott approached Strike, who himself was looking to join the queue for the buffet; Robin was in conversation with Pat and Barclay. “Congratulations, Cormoran” said Michael, shaking Strike’s hand. “Took us all by surprise there!”

“Yes, er… sorry about that,” said Strike with a rueful grin, aware that, had the Ellacotts decided the journey was too far, they had risked missing out on their own daughter’s wedding. “We just wanted to keep everything low key and without too much formality…. Glad you made it though, and I’m sure Robin is really pleased you were here to walk with her”. 

“We’re glad we made it too, Cormoran” said Linda, “I know it hasn’t always been an easy path, getting here, but we appreciate what you and Robin have together, what you’ve built between you over the years. Its lovely to see how happy you both are, and how right you are for each other.”

“Thanks, Linda, that really means a lot, to both of us, I’m sure” said Cormoran, a little taken aback; surprised, but pleased to hear the acceptance of his new in-laws. He bent forwards to accept her proffered kiss. “Shall I go and rescue her from work” Cormoran added, nodding towards Robin, “so that you can have a few words?”

“That would be lovely”, agreed Linda and Michael. 

As Strike moved away, trying to catch the outline of the conversation he was about to interrupt between Robin, Sam and Pat, he felt a punch to his upper right arm, which threw him off balance on the sloping terraces. 

“You sneaky bastards” said his two closest friends, almost in unison; “I don’t know whether to hug you till you can’t breathe, or just kidney punch you right now! You’re lucky I love you both so much Corm, otherwise I might be seriously pissed at you” added a smiling Ilsa with a mock glare, leaning into him to give him a big hug. 

“Are you actually telling me we managed to keep this almighty secret from the best legal brain in London? Or is impending motherhood addling your wits?” Ilsa was six months pregnant with their first child, and was struggling with not only adapting to pregnancy, but also the conditions their fertility clinic had imposed to ensure she carried to full term. 

“I think its just a case of good, old-fashioned age related dementia settling in, Oggy” parried Nick, who became the new focus of attention for his wife’s narrowed eyes.

“It hasn’t altered my right hook” responded Ilsa, chuckling at them both, “Bring it on if you think you’re brave enough!”

“If you’re going to abuse and berate me, the least you could do is let me get some food to eat whilst you do it” said Strike, who had made no more progress in the buffet queue than he had in retrieving Robin from their work colleagues. 

“Haven’t you just eaten half of your own top cake?” Ilsa could still see cake crumbs in his neatly trimmed beard

“Doesn’t count when it’s your own wedding cake, everyone knows that”

“Oh my god, more dieting disclaimers from the nutritionist extraordinaire” quipped Nick.

They progressed enough in the buffet queue to reach the end of the table where the crockery was stacked. “And before you call me a greedy bastard, the second plate is for my wife” he added, with a lopsided grin, feeling excited and yet a little thrown at the statement: it felt funny – new and strange, but somehow just right, rolling off his tongue. 

As he made his way to his bride with a plate of Cornish fare for them both (he had begrudgingly added mushy peas to Robin’s plate) he scanned the terraces for Lucy and Ted: he hadn’t had a chance to catch up with them properly yet. Approaching Barclay, his wife, Pat and Robin, he leaned forwards to give her another kiss, and passed her a plate of food with a smile. The smell of warm pastry, meat and potatoes mixed with onions was subtly mixing in with the outside smells; together they quintessentially meant ‘Cornwall’ to Strike. “Your mum and dad wanted to say hi” he advised Robin 

“Hi?” remarked Barclay, “I bet they want tae say more than that to ye, pullin’ this one on ‘em” he said with a mock grimace and a chuckle, waving his spare hand around at proceedings.

Robin looked slightly bemused at the thought that her mother, at least, may not have been entirely happy with either the impromptu ceremony, or the end result of marriage.

“Don’t you listen to him” said Strike, acknowledging the leg-pulling Sam was successfully giving, whilst reading Robin’s reaction accurately, “Your mum is obviously delighted at her only daughter bagging the most eligible bachelor in Cornwall and was incredibly welcoming to her new son-in-law . No mention of my weight or my pube-like hair at all today – never mind about how her daughter is constantly in mortal danger through mere association with me…” Barclay scoffed.

“Now I am worried, if she hasn’t said any of that,” Robin retorted, and made her excuses to her work colleagues to go to speak with her family.   
“Well I for one am sayin’, thank god for that! I was hopin’ it wouldnae take yous two as long tae tie the knot as it did to get under the sheets, I thought I might have retired before I saw this!” Strike gave Barclay a wry smile as he accepted the handshake on offer “Congratulations to yae both, I couldnae be happier for yus” he added.   
“Yeah, congratulations, you grumpy sod” added Pat with a cackle, leaning in for an unexpected hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aoife O'DOnovan (pron. Eef-oh)


	4. Chapter 4

Before long, Strike made his excuses with Sam and Pat so that he could head over to Ted, Lucy and Greg, where they were stood on the lower terrace overlooking the water, just along from where the wedding ceremony had not long taken place. Greg spotted him approaching first, holding out his hand. 

“Congratulations, Cormoran, glad you’ve made an honest woman of her” he said rather pompously.

“Thanks, Greg” Strike replied, not sure whether to take the statement as glibly as it was made, but accepting the handshake in good humour. He leaned down to Lucy to give her a hug and a kiss.

“Well done Stick, I’m so happy for you” she said, holding him tight. 

“Thanks sis” Strike smiled.

“So - welcome to married life,” smirked Greg, “I wasn’t sure we would ever see this day, when you settled down into a normal relationship.” Greg rocked backwards and forwards on his toes, the way some people did when they thought themselves to be witty and charming. Cormoran could feel his heckles rising. “Does this mean you’ll be taking a more managerial role in the business now, instead of trailing around the streets all day and night? Surely Robin will want you to be home with her rather than out at all hours?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” said Strike, losing his smile and trying to maintain an even tone through the conversation. Greg was clearly oblivious to how much his opinionated statement was galling. “We work as a team, so if I’m not out and about, it’s highly likely Robin will be instead. A ring on our fingers isn’t going to change our partnership, or our work pattern”

“But surely the beauty of being self-employed is that you get to pick and choose what you do, or don’t do?” Greg continued on, still unaware that he might be insulting not only Strike’s lifestyle, but also Robin’s independence. “And I would have imagined your run of successful cases has brought you enough money and publicity to let other people do the dirty work?”

And that’s the problem, thought Strike, You think what we do is sleazy. Choosing not to answer rather than start an argument on his special day, he took a long pull from his pint of Doom Bar.

“At least you’d have more time for your nephews if you stepped back a little” added Lucy, in what he thought might be a vain attempt to bring some positives to Greg’s belligerent conversation whilst filling the uneasy silence. 

Like that’s an encouragement thought Strike, I’ll get onto it straight away. The onset of puberty had not improved the temperament of Luke, and he and Adam were only mildly less annoying by default, from always being in their rooms or on devices. 

“It would have been nice to have known about today Stick, maybe you could have included them in the celebrations…?” Lucy said wistfully and a little reproachfully, looking over to where all three kids were sitting at the other end of the terrace and, indeed, finding they all had their noses fixed to small screens. 

Jack, maybe, thought Strike, ruefully acknowledging she maybe had a point… Except you would never allow me to treat my favourite nephew so overtly different to the other two, he thought resentfully.

“Just the patter of tiny feet to look forward to now then, and you’ll have totally joined the rest of us in domestic bliss” said Greg. 

Strike was getting ready to punch a hole through a wall. He finished off his pint. Two thoughts ran concurrently through his mind as he tipped his glass back: firstly: Already? Really? Barely an hour married, and you’re asking about kids? And secondly, Is that how you describe it, your life? However much he loved his sister, he couldn’t imagine that living with her would be easy, let alone blissful. I’m sure my life with Robin will be, though – in fact, it already is.

“She’s not is she…?” asked Lucy, frowning. She turned to take another, newly appraising look at Robin for any signs of a bump, not finding one.

“No Lucy, she’s not,” said Strike heatedly, “but thanks for having enough faith in me to imagine I would only marry the love of my life after I’d knocked her up” his vexation was clearly becoming more difficult to mask. 

Lucy at least had the decency to look embarrassed “Oh – sorry…. Well, er… you’ve got to admit, a quick wedding…. ”

“I need another pint” he said, huffing and walking off towards Ted before she had chance to stammer an apology, or say something even more disrespectful. 

“Need a refill?” he asked, looking at an inch of dregs in the bottom of his uncle’s glass. Ted nodded and he strode off to the bar, frown firmly in place after mere minutes with his sister and her husband. The longer she spends with him, the more bigoted she becomes, he thought.

“To missing loved ones” Strike toasted upon his return, not needing to ask where Ted’s thoughts were as he stood in his own reverie on the periphery of the celebrations. 

Ted raised his glass in tribute. “They would both be so proud of you today, son. Both would approve of her wholeheartedly. It’s wonderful to see you settled and happy”. He slapped Cormoran on the shoulder, looking him in the eye and again, allowing him to see the pride and love he had for him. 

“Thanks, Ted. That means a lot. Really.” Strike said, touched. It was not often that Ted talked about Leda. Or alluded to her, even. “I hope she would be proud” he murmured, and Ted knew he meant his mother rather than Joan. 

“Joan was right all along” Ted said, curled up in his own thoughts of his lifelong partner. “She said you would end up with your Robin, she could see it, right back then”. A sad smile crossed his face. Strike simply nodded in acquiescence, again not wanting to add to another loaded conversation. “I miss her so much. I wish she had been here to see this day. She would have been so proud.” Ted’s voice broke with unshed tears and his chin wobbled. 

It was Strike’s turn to put a hand around Ted’s shoulder, and together they turned towards the sea and allowed their minds to carry them out beyond the bay, to the ocean where Joan had been laid to rest. 

***

“That’s it then Diddy, just no sex, shitty nappies and death to look forward to now…. Thank god for football and pubs; I’d say work as well but even that ain’t an escape for you, is it?”

Is anyone going to just be happy for us? thought Strike, pulling hard on his cigarette. It already seemed like a long time since his chat with Barclay and Pat. 

“Still, not exactly a hardship, staring at that all day is it” added Polworth rhetorically, looking Robin over as she approached them, saving Strike the need to respond. “That might not be a help in the long run though, once the sex does dry up it’ll be more of a torment….”

Jesus fucking Christ, thought Strike

“I thought you were the one quoting Russian literature and telling me the best thing I could do is marry the woman I love, free up my hands for carrying all the other shit life throws at us…” 

“Yeah, yeah, that too..” said Polworth, not reassuringly at all, and waving off Strike’s concerns as though it wasn’t him that had placed them so solidly at the forefront of his mind. “Or keep your hands free for wanking mate, you’ll probably need it” he clapped him on the back in a conciliatory manner. Robin walked down the terrace towards Strike, and Polworth offered her far more polite congratulations than he had his oldest friend, before heading over to his daughters where they were huddled together with Lucy’s boys, all watching a famous You Tuber that Strike had never heard of.


	5. Chapter 5

“How’s it going?” asked Robin, frowning a little herself when she took in Strike’s expression. He took a deep breath, ground his cigarette butt into the ground and turned towards her, taking the proffered pint.

“Better now you’re here. It’s always better when you’re here”. He nestled into her neck and put his beerless hand around her waist. “We should have eloped properly, so we didn’t have to talk to people.” Robin chuckled.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” 

Strike just groaned and asked “When do you think everyone will leave? Maybe we should just leave, go up to our room… yes, that sounds like a plan” a lascivious smirk had planted itself upon his face now. He turned his body more fully towards her and rubbed up against her midriff, whilst starting to trail light kisses up her neck and behind her ear. She chuckled again and arched back to make him stop.

Robin filled Strike in on her conversations with her parents and other guests, and Strike did the same. It appeared that each other’s’ friends and relatives had been far more graceful with them than their own had. She described how her brother had tactlessly brought up the significant costs her parents had footed for her wedding in Yorkshire, and declared that at least this time around they hadn’t had to pay… a fact which Robin thought may well have contributed to their willing acceptance of the union. Then he had gone on to declare that news of this sudden development between her and Strike might finally quell the gossip-mongers in their cliquey little village, who still pored over the finer points of her failed marriage and critiqued her unorthodox choice of career every time their ventures led to them making the national press. Perversely she could see this counteracting her parents’ previous acceptance, as they thought of more unwanted attention raining down on the family. 

Strike felt as though he should just rip off the band aid, and went full bore into explaining how Lucy and Greg had decided she was already with child and subject to an obligatory wedding rather than a loving, consensual one. Robin just huffed and smirked

“I did tell you about the pleasurable experience of my first wedding, didn’t I?” Robin asked. “You know, there was an injured, freshly fired, moody bride, a jealous and controlling husband, a vigilante gate-crasher at the church, unruly swans…”

“I didn’t gate-crash, I was invited…” protested Strike

“… Vigilante is OK then…? And you didn’t RSVP” pointed out Robin, “At least that isn’t a problem we’ve had today…” (he wasn’t sure if she meant the vigilante, gate-crashing, or the invites being returned). “Then there was a huge drama when the bride left the dancefloor to chase after another man…” She bit her lip and gave him a sideways look; Strike at least had the decency to look half embarrassed for his part in this (though the other half was rather smug). “And all hell broke loose about some missing texts and phone calls; my brother punched the groom, my parents had a massive argument with the in-laws, and I locked myself in the bathroom to throw up. And after all of that, I couldn’t go home because the press had landed on our doorstep, so I ended up going on honeymoon just to get away long enough to tell my husband I didn’t want to be married to him any more… and then he almost died on me…” She tipped her glass at Strike and took a sip of her wine.

Strike took a moment to think over everything Robin had just said. “I don’t think you ever have, actually, told me all of that… not like that, anyway” he said in contemplation and with a hint of remorse. Then, lightening the mood, he added “Well, we probably still have some time to fuck this one up a little more… What say-“

“NO! No way, soldier, we are NOT tempting fate like that… an axed murderer will turn up or something if we start down that route” she laughed through her refusals as he tried to cajole her into a number of mischief-making activities. 

“Besides, axe murderers are great for business,” he said, unabashed, but relenting enough to pull her back in his arms again for another kiss. 

“Let’s just try to remain gracious for the rest of the evening, that shouldn’t be too hard to do, should it?” Robin contemplated. Strike gave her a sceptical look, but murmured agreement.

“I’ll try - but by the time we get to the end of tonight I might seriously be ready to explode”

“I think that can be arranged,” she said, with a cheeky grin and a wink.

***

Unknown to them, Al was just above them on the middle terrace. He took a quiet photo of the pair from behind, the sun setting beyond them in the bay; arm in arm, nose to nose, content in their momentary bubble… He sent a quick message or two before heading back to sort out final arrangements with the musicians, who were getting ready to leave. 

***

As the sun went down, the guests started to make their way back home. Lucy and Greg left early to get the kids home for school the next day; Ted stayed for a while longer, but took his leave not long after. Strike and Robin promised to pop round to see him before heading back to London. Their work colleagues, who were staying overnight, were already relaxing in the bar, where they were intending to join them for a final drink. Ilsa and Nick were about to make their way back to Ilsa’s family home, and Robin and Strike stood saying their goodbyes, making small talk about when the next curry night would be. The main entrance door to the hotel swung open and a flash of photography went off; Robin and Cormoran both looked round in surprise, only to be caught full-face in a follow-on burst of flashlight.

“What the f-“ Cormoran started, before pulling everyone from the line of sight of the cameras. “How the fuck did they find out?” he said, livid at the intrusion.

“Er, that might have something to do with your famous half-brother” said Ilsa, looking at her Twitter feed, which was reeling copious amounts of posts about her Cornish friend. “Looks like it’s all over Twitter, and Insta” she added, seeing a silhouetted version of Mr & Mrs Strike appear in that newsfeed too. 

“For fucks sake” said Strike, “Are you going to be OK getting home?” he was worried about Ilsa being bumped and jostled in her current state. “Let me see if there’s another exit you can use” he stomped off grumpily off towards the reception. 

Once his dear friends had departed they headed towards the bar area, thankful that the windows were not overlooking the street or reception, where a number of photographers could now be seen. Al had the decency to look shame faced, whilst he tried to explain what had happened and make amends.

“Sorry if I’ve blown your cover, but whether you believe it or not, I knew Dad would want to know about today. He’s really pleased for you both.”

I think I need a whisky, never mind a pint….

“Gracious and calm, Strike…you promised” murmured Robin in Strike’s ear as she watched his heckles rising. 

“Listen, I know that your life experiences haven’t exactly been the same as mine, given the circumstances”, Al continued

For fuck's sake, where is this going now??? thought strike. 

“But – I’ve never really bought into the whole marriage thing; I’ve seen too many hit the wall and to be honest, while I can see Dad is happy now, I know it hasn’t always been that way…. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you and Robin – you’re the only people I’ve ever met, where I actually thought you were right for each other, to the point where marriage seems to be a good idea. I’m so happy for you, both of you. I hope you’ll lead a happy and fulfilled life together, and I hope you do me the honour of allowing me to be in it, once in a while.”

Strike and Robin looked at him in surprise, whilst accepting the compliment and the accompanying embraces.

“Let me know when you have chance for a breather, even if it’s just a long weekend, and I’ll make somewhere available to you for a honeymoon.“

“I think he really does look up to you, you know” Robin said to Strike.

“Good job or I might have killed him by now for his publicity stunt… and you do know that Rokeby has settled our bill for us don’t you?” 

“Gracious and calm, Strike… you promised”

Strike sighed but gave her a sideways smile. “I’m looking forwards to exploding later…” she chuckled and hugged him in tight.

**Author's Note:**

> I have made myself a promise to write one piece of smut for every piece of fluff - will see how it goes and whether they are worth publishing!


End file.
